One small step
by Tom's Mum
Summary: Dwayne and Fidel decide to take a hand in the game


This is my first attempt. The characters, alas, are not mine – I have just played with them. The main plot device owes much to W Shakespeare!

The island of Saint Marie was bathed in tropical heat. The air was heavy and humid and thunderclouds were gathering in the sky. It was just too hot for anything – even the trees seemed to wilt as the sun beat mercilessly down.

Richard and Camille were in the middle of one of their more heated arguments when the Commissioner arrived at Honoré police station. "Why are you so stubborn? You're impossible, you're so _English_" yelled Camille. "Of course I'm English" Richard shouted back, "what do you expect? Why do you always have to argue? I've told you before – we're police officers, we base our decisions on scientific facts, not knee-jerk emotional responses". To be honest, he hardly knew what they were arguing about any more; as usual one of his (to his mind) eminently reasonable statements had been totally misunderstood by an incensed Camille.

Fidel and Dwayne had quickly beaten a diplomatic retreat onto the balcony, happy to sit out this particular bout of the sparring war between their two superiors. Which is where the Commissioner found them on climbing the steps from his official car. Fidel and Dwayne stood smartly to attention. "Good morning, Sir". "Good morning, Fidel, good morning, Dwayne." The Commissioner grimaced as he listened to the raised voices through the open window. With a sigh and a raised eyebrow, he strode through the door into the office.

Richard and Camille stood either side of the desk, glaring at each other. Camille's hands were on her hips, Richard's face was one of total exasperation. "I am of course loth to interrupt such a – how do they put it? – full and frank exchange of views, Inspector", said the Commissioner somewhat acidly, but may I remind you both that you are shortly to give evidence in an extremely important trial. I have just come from the Court House to warn you that your appearance is likely to be brought forward, as one of the other witnesses has failed to turn up and procedures are therefore running ahead of schedule. So may I suggest that you postpone hostilities for the time being and get on down to the Court?"

"Yes of course, Sir, thank you ", said Richard, rather red in the face. It was humiliating and highly unprofessional to be caught arguing with a subordinate – and by the Commissioner of all people! "We'll go straight away. Come on, Camille". He snatched his jacket from the back of the chair, Camille flung her bag over her head and they headed out for the Court House, still simmering. They were both witnesses in a high profile money-laundering and criminal fraud trial, which had originated on Antigua but culminated in an arrest on Saint-Marie. Richard and Camille had been the arresting officers and their evidence would be vital to the trial. As he watched them disappear, the Commissioner fervently hoped that both would have calmed down by the time they took the witness stand. He shook his head in bafflement.

"Is everything all right, Sir?" asked Fidel anxiously. Despite his recent promotion, he rarely felt at ease with the imposing figure of the Commissioner. The Commissioner sighed. "You know, Sergeant Best, when I put the Inspector and Sergeant Borday to work together, I really thought that they would bring out the best in each other - but perhaps I was wrong. Do they argue like that all the time?" Fidel swallowed nervously. It was so unusual for the Commissioner to speak in this way and he felt really uncomfortable discussing other members of the team with him. "No, no, not at all" he stammered, "well, they do argue sometimes of course but most of the time they get on really well, in fact …" He trailed off, suddenly aware that he was getting into dangerous waters. "In fact what?" probed the Commissioner. "Oh, er, nothing, Sir" said Fidel quickly "we're a team, we all get on well when we're on a case, that's all." "That's good to hear, Sergeant, now please carry on", and the Commissioner headed off back to his car, frowning grimly.

"Which is all very well" Fidel said to Dwayne, relating the conversation once the Commissioner's car had disappeared, "but I nearly got myself into big trouble there! I was just about to say how we sometimes wonder whether the Chief and Camille might one day … well, you know. But I stopped myself just in time – can't have the Commissioner thinking we spend our time talking about things like that, even if we do sometimes!"

"God, no," agreed Dwayne "that wouldn't go down well at all. But he didn't look very happy, did he? I hope he's not thinking of splitting the team up."

"He wouldn't, would he? Just because the Chief and Camille argue a bit? It's not as if they really don't get on, they're just very different." Both Dwayne and Fidel were very fond of Camille and regarded her by way of the sister neither of them had. To start with they had been taken aback by the strange ways of their new DI but they had soon learned to tolerate his many quirks with amusement and even affection. Fidel in particular had come to look up to and admire his senior officer and was eternally grateful for the encouragement Richard had given him to try for his sergeant's exams. Dwayne on the other hand would frequently roll his eyes over the Chief's methods but was the first to admit that his nose for detecting when something was not quite right about a case was second to none. Despite the difference in their ages, the two officers were close and had often speculated about whether there might be more to the relationship between the fiery Camille and the reserved Englishman than met the eye.

"But, you know", continued Fidel, " much as I would like it to happen, I really can't see anything developing between them. The Chief is so tightly screwed up that I can't imagine him even asking her out for a date – although I'm sure he's keen on her, I've seen the way he looks at her sometimes. But I don't suppose he would think he had much a chance with someone as stunning as Camille, anyway."

"Yes, but Camille definitely has a very soft spot for the Chief, to say the least" added Dwayne, "when he's not driving her mad, that is!"

"Well, I think it's a real shame – they would make a great couple in spite of everything – but it's just not going to happen, and there's nothing we can do about" said Fidel "unless of course you feel like giving the Chief some much-needed advice from your well-known wealth of experience?"

"And get my head bitten off in the process? No thanks very much! I don't think the Chief would appreciate that at all!" Dwayne paused, stared out from the balcony across to the sea and thought hard for a few minutes. "But, you know, there might be a way of getting through to him … and living to tell the tale! I think I've got an idea. Nothing ventured, nothing gained! How's your acting these days, Fidel?"

Two days later Fidel and Dwayne had once more stationed themselves on the balcony, keeping watch. Camille had taken the Defender to the other end of the island to interview a potential witness in a new case they had recently taken on, whilst the Inspector was talking to the manager of the local bank. "Look", hissed Dwayne, "there he comes", as Richard wended his way slowly through the array of market stalls that littered the main road and the square beneath them. "Come on, time to disappear!"

"I don't think I can do this", worried a visibly nervous and increasingly panic-stricken Fidel. "I'm no good at acting, I know I'm going to mess it up."

"No you won't" urged Dwayne "do it just like we rehearsed it, and it will work – I promise you! It's in a good cause, after all."

"Yes. Yes I suppose it is. Well, don't look at me or I'll never be able to keep a straight face!"

"No, me neither! Now make sure that window is wide open and we'll sneak out the back way so the Chief doesn't see us." And with that the two officers slunk conspiratorially round to the back of the police station and out the little wicket gate.

Richard Poole was feeling hot. Extremely hot. As he wound his way through the market place he wondered for the hundredth time why everything on the island was so chaotic and disorganised. He dodged past men in lurid shirts and ladies clad in rainbow colours, all selling everything from dodgy CDs to parrots in cages and made his way determinedly towards the police station, his sanctuary from a colourful and exotic world which bewildered him and which – try as he might – he did not really understand.

On climbing the steps Richard realised that the station was deserted. He knew Camille would be out for most of the afternoon but had expected to find Fidel and Dwayne at their desks. He supposed they must have been called away. Grabbing some cold water from the fridge he threw off his jacket, sank thankfully into his chair and pressed the bottle into the back of his neck, sighing contentedly as the coolness spread slowly down his back. If he lived to be a hundred, he knew he would never get used to the stifling tropical heat! He had a long drink and quickly checked his emails – there was nothing of any interest. Pressing the cold bottle to his forehead Richard got up and moved to the window in the vain hope of finding a cooling breeze. He soon spotted Fidel and Dwayne slowly making their way back to the police station, each carrying an enormous ice cream. As they drew near their voices carried. "Let's sit on the balcony for a few minutes" said Fidel "we're due a break and the Chief won't be back yet." Richard quickly drew back into the room and returned to his desk. It had been a bad day - a case that was not going well compounded by a difficult interview with the bank manager – and he was not really feeling sociable, not even with the two junior members of his team who he really liked very much (although he would never admit it).

The two officers sat just under the window and started alternately chatting and licking their ice creams. Richard tried hard not to listen to their conversation – the English did not eavesdrop! – and in any case he really had no wish to know what they talked about in their free time. He tried to apply himself to his work but found his thoughts straying to home - and to other, forbidden, places. But suddenly Dwayne's voice jerked him out of his reverie.

"Well, I don't care what you say, Fidel, I think it's a real shame. The Chief and Camille would make a great couple. I know they're poles apart in lots of things but hey! opposites attract, don't they? I mean, it's really ironic. Look at Camille – she's a real stunner and she has half the men on the island running around after her. But it's obvious the only one she really wants is the Chief, and he's just not interested in her!"

_What!? _Richard froze in his chair. His heart began thumping uncomfortably and his insides seemed to turn to jelly. He strained to catch Fidel's reply.

"I'm not so sure about that, Dwayne. I know it seems that way most of the time but I've seen the Chief just watching Camille sometimes, when he thinks no-one's looking. I think he _is_ interested, but he just won't admit it and even if he did he wouldn't know what to do about it."

Richard eased himself out of his chair and edged silently towards the window. Could this possibly be true? English or not, he had to hear more!

There was a pause as Fidel and Dwayne applied themselves energetically to their ice creams. Richard silently screamed at them to hurry up.

"Why on earth would he find it so difficult? It's the simplest thing in the world!"

"For you maybe, Dwayne, but I would guess that at some time in the past the Chief must have had a bad experience which left him very wary of women. Perhaps he made a bit of a fool of himself with someone once and never got over the humiliation, I don't know … "

_How did he know that? _ wondered Richard in amazement.

"So if he asked Camille out and she said no, it would be another humiliation and even harder to bear because they have to work together, don't you see" Fidel continued.

"But, for God's sake, she wouldn't say no!" interrupted Dwayne, "it's exactly what she has been waiting for all this time! She'd jump at it."

"Well _I_ know that and _you_ know that, but the Chief doesn't, and I guess he doesn't have a lot of self-confidence when it comes to women."

"I know he always says he doesn't understand women. But it's not rocket science," said Dwayne, "all he has to say is 'Hey Camille, I see there's a new restaurant just opened round the bay. I thought I might give it a try and wondered if you'd like to come.' That's surely not so difficult?"

"Maybe not" said Fidel rather sadly "but I still can't see it happening. As you said, it's a shame, but there's nothing _we_ can do about it. And we really shouldn't be talking about the Chief like this, you know he wouldn't like it at all!"

"No I know, but it's only because we like them both – what's the harm in that? The Chief is a really decent guy underneath all that reserve and uptightness. I just wish he could loosen up a little. Ah well."

They had come to the end of the ice creams. Fidel stood up. "Come on, Dwayne, that's enough. The Chief will be back soon. We need to go and talk to people down at the harbour about these burglaries. I'll just go and fetch my hat."

Richard panicked and, appalled at the looming prospect of discovery, dived beneath his desk. Fidel went to the stand and collected his hat, giving a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eyes at the Inspector's end of the office. As they clattered down the steps he whispered to Dwayne, grinning broadly "He's hiding under his desk!" "Good", laughed Dwayne, "that means he heard it all. Let's just hope it has done some good!" And the two officers sauntered off in the direction of the harbour, smiling from relief at having successfully carried out their plan.

Richard sat underneath his desk, stunned and unable to move. He knew he should not have listened to his officers' conversation but he had been unable to resist and now he couldn't get their words out of his head. How had Fidel come to know so much about him? He had certainly never spoken to him about his past. And suddenly Richard was transported back more than 20 years to his very first posting, a police station in North London, where he – a young and callow new recruit – had met and fallen for one of his fellow constables. Louise was a few years older than him and very much more experienced. She had been casually kind to the new boy and he had read far more into it than she had ever intended.

Richard had always been alone (he maintained a strict distinction between being alone and being lonely, which he would never admit to) from the time when, aged 7, he had been sent to boarding school while his parents were abroad; his father was a civil engineer who flitted from country to country, mostly in the third world, building roads and bridges. He had really seen very little of his parents while growing up: the occasional fortnight in a caravan if they happened to be in the country during vacations, but otherwise he spent his holidays with his martinet of a grandmother, who had grown up in India under the Raj and had very definite ideas on the upbringing of English boys. These did not involve mixing with girls, or indeed with other boys, so Richard had led a very solitary life with her, redeemed only by the company of his grandmother's rather elderly retriever, to whom he secretly told all his innermost thoughts and fears. And even that outlet came to an abrupt end after a couple of years when the dog finally died. Richard had been very affected by the loss of his only friend but, having no-one to unburden himself to, just bottled it up inside and vowed never to become attached to an animal again.

At school Richard was not popular. He was not interested in football or pop music and found he had little in common with the other boys. He secretly longed to join in their games and belong to a gang but, hardly having played with other children when he was young, he was awkward and didn't know how to form relationships with his peers. So he was perpetually the one left out, the one no-one wanted when picking teams. It wasn't long before the bullying began. Richard dealt with it by ignoring the bullies and immersing himself in work and in books. He was a very bright boy who worked hard and wanted to know about everything, which made him popular with the teaching staff but provided yet more fodder for the bullies. It was therefore quite a surprise when, having achieved brilliant results in his A Levels, he turned his back on a university career and joined the police force. It was partly the need for a complete change and partly an unexpressed hope that his father – a practical man unimpressed by too much academic learning – would approve of his son's choice and even be proud of him (his parents had by now settled back in England).

So it was that Richard Poole had arrived in North London totally unequipped to cope with Louise. Life at the police station was so different from anything he had experienced to date in his well-ordered world and he floundered at first as he tried to find his feet. He knew he could handle the work but meeting so many different people from all walks of life really taxed his limited powers of social interaction. Louise had seen him struggling and had thrown him a lifeline or two to help him through the first difficult weeks. Richard had virtually no experience of girls but knew he was seriously attracted to Louise. She was blond and vivacious and he had never met anyone like her before. It had taken a lot to summon up his courage to speak to her, but he had done it. He had told her of his feelings and had invited her to a meeting of the astronomical society to which he belonged. She had stared at him in blank incomprehension and then burst out laughing. "Oh Richard, how very sweet! But I really don't think freezing to death with a bunch of wierdos staring at a load of boring old stars is going to set my pulses racing! Besides, I've got a boyfriend already, thank you very much, he's a banker with a Ferrari and a speedboat and he's going to take me to the Seychelles next month. And anyway, you're just not my type – you're miles too young for me, I would be baby-snatching." Richard felt himself curl up with mortification. He had thought she really liked him! How could he have got it so wrong? And what was more it was clear that Louise was regaling the rest of the station with the tale of Richard's infatuation; he could see the glances and sniggers and the sound of Louise's tinkling laughter following her progress round the room. His humiliation was complete; he wished he was dead.

That was the one and only time that Richard had ever attempted a relationship with a woman. Never again, he swore, would he allow himself to be hurt like that. In future he would keep his feelings (if he had any) well under control and buttoned up. That way he would be safe. And so he had been until Camille came along.

At first Richard had disliked her intensely: she was everything he wasn't – French (to start with), outgoing, friendly and emotional, an officer who relied in her work as much on her instinct as on her brain. They had argued bitterly at the beginning and it had taken some time for Richard to accept that Camille's way of working, though totally different from his own, did have its merits. In his more rational moments he even accepted that together they made a good working team. He did not know quite when he had started to view Camille in a different light. The change had crept upon him so gradually that he was hardly aware of it himself but on more than one occasion he had caught himself following her with his eyes when his mind should have been on more important matters. Her presence, her smile, the perfume she exuded as she wafted past slowly intruded into the fortress he had so carefully constructed around himself. In the evenings, as he sat in his favourite chair at home, he found his thoughts drifting towards her. It got to the point when he began to hope that she would call in on some pretext, as she sometimes did. He sternly rebuked himself on these occasions, giving himself a mental shake, and telling himself firmly that there was absolutely no reason whatsoever why a beautiful, vibrant woman like Camille should have the slightest interest in a grumpy (according to Camille), middle-aged, childish and boring person like himself. He would then pick up a book and force himself to read it for at least an hour until the moment had passed.

But then there were occasions like the time her friend had been killed. He had been surprised by how desperately he wanted to console her and furious with himself for his complete inability to do so. He had rarely felt so inadequate. In the end he had managed a few stumbling words and hoped she understood what he was trying to say. He thought perhaps she had, for she had been very kind and understanding when his nemesis Doug Anderson had turned up on the island. And then there had been the night of the hurricane, which Richard would never forget, when they had been marooned together at the University, and he had talked to her about his relationship with his father – something he had never done with anyone before. What had induced him to do it? She had woven some kind of magic with her gentle, sympathetic probing and suddenly he had found himself confiding in her. She had teased him a little and he had of course become embarrassed, but he sensed at that moment that their relationship had shifted into another gear, and he did not know which emotion was paramount in him: excitement or terror. He had lain awake for most of the night, and it was not because of the winds howling outside. Just an arm's length away from him lay Camille, breathing regularly in her sleep. Her presence was disturbing, to say the least. He could reach out and touch her, if he wished. But that was forbidden territory. Richard had pulled himself together, picked up his book and settled down to read.

Lost in his thoughts, Richard didn't hear the Defender pull up. Suddenly the door to the station burst open and there was Camille. She hung her bag over her chair and was about to sit down when she realised that Richard was underneath his desk.

"What are you doing on the floor?" she called.

"Oh, er, I dropped something. I was just picking it up." Overcome with confusion Richard slid back into his chair and pretended to rifle through a file while he regained his composure. "How did the interview go?"

"Nothing much to report – she didn't see or hear anything. So we're not really any further forward."

"Oh"

"Are you feeling all right, Sir? You look rather red in the face. You're not getting another fever, are you?"

"Yes. No! I'm fine. Really. OK. Tip top!" Richard gave a manic little laugh and tried desperately to order his thoughts. Dwayne's words came back to him. She was here, alone, in front of him. Dare he risk it? Did he even want to?

Camille returned to her desk, sat down, switched on her computer and started to type her report. Richard rubbed his sweating palms on his trousers, set his shoulders and swallowed convulsively.

"Er, Camille?"

She lifted her head. "Yes?"

"Um, I, er, " Richard floundered. His mouth was open but the words wouldn't come.

"What is it?"

"Er, I wondered … whether you've finished your report yet."

"No, I've only just started it", she replied, puzzled by her boss's strange behaviour. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

She returned to her computer. Richard cursed silently under his breath. Several minutes passed, broken only by the tap tapping of Camille's fingers on the keyboard.

He must try again!

"Camille?"

"_Yes!" _She was getting irritated. He gulped. Well, this was it! He repeated Dwayne's words carefully.

"Er, I see there's a new restaurant just opened round the bay. I thought I might give it a try tonight and wondered if you'd like to come?"

He had done it!

"Oh"

She was going to refuse, clearly she was thinking up an excuse.

"Of course you're probably too busy" he stammered.

"Not at all" (quickly consigning to history the intended visit to her mother)," I'd love to."

"It doesn't matter, really it doesn't. I'll go by myself."

"I said I'd love to."

"You did? You would?"

"Of course, shall I pick you up at 8?"

"Yes. Yes. 8 o'clock. I'll book a table."

"Good". She smiled, and returned to her report.

Richard sat as if turned to stone, torn between feelings of elation and apprehension. He had done it. He had asked her and she had said yes. He still wasn't sure whether it was a good idea or not, but he reached for his phone and called the restaurant.

Catherine Bordey stood polishing glasses behind the bar when her mobile rang. It was her daughter.

"I'm sorry, maman, but I can't come round this evening, I've got to go out. Perhaps tomorrow?"

"Yes of course, cherie. Don't worry about it. Where are you going?"

"Oh, just out to dinner."

"A new boyfriend, perhaps?"

Camille laughed. "You ask too many questions, maman! I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right, darling. Have a lovely time."

Catherine switched off her phone and pondered for a while. For some years it had been her ambition in life to see her beloved only daughter happily settled with a good man and a family of her own. But the clock was ticking: Camille was well in her thirties now and showing no sign at all of falling in with her mother's wishes. She would humour Catherine by going along with the blind dates which she sometimes arranged for her, but nothing ever came of them. Catherine longed for grandchildren, but even more than that she was determined that Camille should not end up on her own as she, Catherine, was. It was not her fault of course – her husband had run off with another woman when Camille was still very young. Catherine enjoyed running her bar; she was naturally gregarious and enjoyed nothing more than chatting to her customers (apart from Richard Poole, of course, who simply didn't chat). But life had been hard and circumstances had forced her into earning her own living and supporting her child by herself. Now she could foresee a lonely old age, and she did not wish her daughter to be in the same position when it came to her turn.

The two junior officers from the police station came into the bar. She knew them both very well; indeed, the whole team frequently descended on the bar at the end of a hard day's work for a long cool drink – or, in Richard's case, a pot of tea, which Catherine made specially for him. If she was in a good mood and he didn't provoke her, she even supplied him with milk.

"Hello Dwayne, Fidel" she called. "Have you had a good day?"

"Amazing!" replied Dwayne. "You don't know the half of it!"

"Sssh" whispered Fidel, "don't go telling everyone!"

"Is the Inspector not with you tonight?" asked Catherine, bringing the beers across to the table.

"No, he said he had some paperwork to finish, and went straight home."

"And Camille said she had a headache."

"That's strange" wondered Catherine, "Camille rang me just now and said she was going out for dinner with someone – she didn't say who. She didn't mention anything about a headache!"

A broad grin spread across the features of the two officers.

"You don't think …?" started Catherine. "No, it couldn't be, surely?"

"Stranger things have happed", laughed Dwayne, "just you wait and see!"

"Richard! I can't believe it, after all this time! Why has it taken him so long?"

"Oh, you know the Chief! He just needed a gentle push in the right direction."

"Well, if it's true then I'm very happy. He may not be my first choice for Camille, but I know she really likes him, and that's all that matters to me. Now drink up and let me get on."

And Catherine returned to her polishing, deeply thoughtful.

Camille Bordey emerged from the shower, shaking the last drops of water from her hair. She opened her wardrobe and reached for her dress. It had taken her no time at all to decide what to wear on this most surprising and important of evenings – it had to be the red dress. The one she was wearing when for a few brief but exciting minutes she had thought that Richard was her blind date. Had thought wrongly, of course. But he had clearly admired her appearance: it was one of the few occasions on which he had paid her a personal compliment, and she had treasured it.

Camille sat down on her bed and tried to make sense of her feelings. She did not entirely understand why she was so attracted to a difficult man like Richard who could be rude, childish, pedantic, stubborn and – oh, just plain infuriating. It was not as if she were an inexperienced young girl, she thought. She reflected for a minute or two on the two serious relationships in her life. Firstly, there was Raoul, whom she met while training in Paris. They had been together for more than a year but then she was posted to Marseille and the relationship had somehow just faded away. Probably they were both too young for a long term commitment. She had met Raoul again quite recently when she was in Paris; he was now married with a young family and she was relieved to find that she felt nothing for him now other than friendship. Then there had been Paul, a property developer on Antigua. He was dashing and good-looking and such fun to be with. She had been quite swept away – until she discovered that he had a wife and three children waiting for him at home in Barbados. That had been quite a shock; she had believed him when he told her his frequent absences were due to a property portfolio which stretched throughout the Caribbean. When she confronted him with his duplicity he had begged for forgiveness and promised to leave his wife but Camille would have none of it. She would not do to Paul's wife what had been done to her mother.

It was at that point that she had volunteered to return to Saint Marie in her undercover role. "No more men!" she had vowed, and by and large she had kept her word. Of course there had been a few casual dates but definitely nothing serious. Camille was well aware of her mother's growing desperation at her single state and humoured her by accepting the blind dates that Catherine sometimes arranged. She supposed that she did want to settle down and have children one day but she was in no hurry, and if it never happened, well, she had her career and that would have to be enough. She was perfectly happy being single.

So why was she spending so much time thinking about DI Richard Poole? She had never met anyone like him and he was not her type at all! She had hated working with him at first, found him patronising and pedantic, with his insistence on following correct procedures. His stubbornness and his emotional immaturity had infuriated her (and still did!) and his obvious lack of appreciation for someone who was (a) female, (b) French and (c) outgoing. Yet gradually she had come to appreciate the brilliance of his mind, his dogged pursuit of every tiny detail and his acerbic humour, and she had to admit that his by-the-book approach had brought spectacular results.

But whilst she had never met anyone with as encyclopaedic a mind as Richard (apart from his lamentable failure to identify Beyoncé of course), it was not that which attracted Camille. It was the vulnerable and lonely little boy who just occasionally peeked out from behind the armour that she found so endearing. The vulnerable and lonely little boy who had turned into a vulnerable and lonely man. The man whose tender care for the little lizard who had adopted him was both ridiculous and utterly charming. Camille had largely grown up without a father, but her mother's love had more than made up for his absence. She sensed – largely instinctively – that no-one had ever loved Richard very much, and she frequently longed to put her arms round him and give him a big hug. She never dared, of course, for she knew it would not be welcome.

She brushed her hair absent-mindedly while her thoughts roved back over their various encounters. There were of course the arguments and the sulks. Camille was no push-over and was not slow to tell Richard when she thought he was wrong, had said the wrong thing or had treated someone (usually her) badly. The air between them sometimes bristled, but once she had calmed down she was usually sorry, for she recognised that Richard's attitude sprung from awkwardness and a general lack of understanding – he was not deliberately insensitive. She knew that under the armoured plating behind which he sheltered there lurked a really decent and kind man. She remembered with a smile his well-intentioned but ham-fisted attempts at supporting her when her friend Aimée had died. She had been exasperated with him at the time but he had been patient, and the disjointed little speech he had made her when presenting her with the flowers had been really sweet. She had been touched, and close to tears. Then there was the magical night of the not-quite-hurricane, when he had talked to her as never before. She had never known him to reveal his feelings like that. It was one of the occasions when she had so wanted to reach over and hug him; she had held back for fear that she would break the spell, that he would retreat back into his shell – and afterwards she had regretted the lost opportunity.

Then he had suddenly announced that he was being sent back to England, and the reality had hit her in the pit of her stomach. She found she could not contemplate with equanimity the prospect that he might not ever return. It had all happened so quickly that there was no time to say the things that needed to be said; a quick hug and a peck on the cheek were all she was able to manage, and he was gone. The intervening week was the longest she could remember. Outwardly she continued with her duties as if nothing was wrong, inwardly she was torn apart wondering whether he would come back as he had promised. Perhaps Catherine guessed at the inner turmoil but she was wise enough not to probe. She did not really comprehend her daughter's attraction to the strange Englishman but was determined to keep her counsel until such time as Camille decided to confide in her.

When Richard had finally walked through to the door of the bar, complaining vociferously about his once-again-lost luggage, Camille had hardly been able to contain the joy and relief that surged through her. He had come back! She did not care how or why: all that mattered was that he was here, back on Saint Marie.

And now he had finally asked her out. What had prompted him to do it, she could not imagine, but she was so glad that he had somehow found the courage. It would not be an easy evening, she was sure. She would have to take it slowly and coax him very gently if she wished to see more of the real Richard. And she did want to see more – much, much more. She had finally been given the opportunity, and it was up to her to take it. She was no longer crying for the moon – it was here in her hands.

Slipping the red dress over her head, Camille picked up her bag and headed out into the night.

Richard Poole sat bolt upright in his chair, twiddling his thumbs nervously and vainly trying to control the rising panic which was slowly engulfing him. He had been ready for at least half an hour, and in that time he had come to bitterly regret the impulse that had led him to speak to Camille. He had resisted her for so long – why then had he suddenly given in? He knew he was useless at social occasions: how was he going to get through this evening without making an idiot of himself?

Richard was well aware that he was socially inept and pretended not to care, but he privately squirmed at the embarrassing situations he had got himself into. He never intended to offend anyone, but lacked the self-awareness to see how his remarks might be perceived by others. He remembered in particular the unfortunate host of the party he had attended whom he had unknowingly berated over the shoddy nature of the wine provided; a few minutes later and the poor man was shot dead! And then of course there was Catherine. He always seemed to say the wrong thing to her! And she was actually the last person he wanted to upset, as she made the only half-decent tea on the island!

Richard looked round the shack where he lived. "My house", he called it, with a deep irony that he suspected no-one else appreciated. He had, he supposed, become used to the tree that grew through the roof and the tiny shower cubicle. He had even quite grown to like the sound of the waves breaking soothingly on the sand just outside the veranda. But he would never come to terms with the sand that despite all his efforts got just everywhere – not just on the floor but in his shoes, in his clothes, in the cupboards and even sometimes in his bed. God, he hated sand!

A flash of iridescent green caught his eye. "Don't look at me like that" said Richard sharply, "you've had your dinner. " Harry continued to stare at him quizzically. "What? It's no good, I just can't do it. What on earth am I going to talk to her about?"

Harry skittered across the floor and jumped onto the table. "Have you been on a 'date', Harry? What did you talk about?" Harry cocked his head to one side. "Of course, lizards don't talk, do they, so no conversation needed. Lucky old lizards. She likes me to be 'human', Harry. What does that mean? How am I supposed to be human?" Harry wrinkled his nose. " Yes all right, I know. You're a lizard – you don't know either."

Richard got up and paced up and down agitatedly. "Pull yourself together, " he told himself, "imagine you're interviewing a suspect." Yes, that was it! He would prepare a list of questions to keep the conversation going. Now what topics could they talk about? He scratched his head; it was hard to think of anything that wasn't to do with work. He managed to write down a few questions and tried to memorise them, then gave up with a despairing groan. This would never work! Why on earth had he listened to Fidel and Dwayne? It was all a terrible mistake. He was sure they were wrong – Camille couldn't possibly be interested in him.

Richard got up and forced himself to look in the mirror. He saw a man with a receding hairline, a man drifting imperceptibly into middle age, a man who – truth to tell – had felt middle-aged all his life. He picked up his phone and quickly found the photo he had taken surreptitiously of Camille. He saw a beautiful woman in her prime: confident, classy and totally at ease with herself. What could such a woman see in him?

He could foresee only embarrassment and disappointment in the evening that lay ahead of him. Better then to call it off. He would think of some excuse. He was reaching once again for his phone when he heard the Defender pull up outside.

Camille stood in the doorway silhouetted against the setting sun. God, she looked stunning! She was wearing _that_ dress.

"Hello, Richard"

"Oh, er, hello. You look … um … amazing", he mumbled. All the fluency at his dispersal when he was working just deserted him.

"Thank you" she replied. She wished she could say the same about him. Unsurprisingly, but rather disappointingly, Richard was dressed in his usual manner: formal suit, shirt and tie. She didn't need the tightly clenched fists and the rictus smile to detect the tension in his body. She sighed inwardly; this was going to be even harder than she had expected.

"Well, shall we go?" said Richard in a rather high voice, his mouth parched and dry.

"Would you do something for me first?"

"Yes, of course", he replied warily.

"Could we leave the jacket and tie behind?"

Richard stared at her. His hand travelled protectively to his neck. He did on occasion remove his jacket (though not if he was out in public) but never his tie. It was part of his defences against a hostile world. But he did not want the evening to start with an argument, so he meekly stripped off the offending garments and threw them on the chair, disturbing the slumbering Harry who shot round the room in terror then skidded to an abrupt halt as if unable to believe what he was seeing.

Camille smiled in appreciation of the gesture (and in some relief – she had not been sure how he would react), reached up and gently undid the top two buttons of his shirt. "That's better, it's a little less like going for a formal job interview!" He tried to smile weakly, driving away the memory of her fingers at his throat and the faint scent of her perfume. Feeling half-naked, Richard got into the Defender. Camille climbed into the driver's seat and they were off, bumping down the track that led to his 'house'.

It was fortunately not far to the restaurant, so conversation was not needed. Camille drove carefully, expertly avoiding the potholes, Richard sitting stiffly beside her. He was clearly terrified, though trying hard not to show it. How was she going to handle this? "Alcohol", she thought, "and lots of it!" The restaurant was set in a beautiful bay, with a series of terraces leading down to a sandy beach. It really was the perfect spot for a romantic dinner, thought Camille, more in hope than expectation. They chose a secluded table overlooking the ocean and Camille ordered cocktails – a large and strong one for Richard. He gulped it down without really tasting it and reached for the menu. He had had a horrid fear that the restaurant would serve nothing but sea food but fortunately there was a good selection and Richard had no difficulty in finding something to his taste. They chose, and Camille ordered a bottle of good wine. She whispered to the waiter to top Richard's glass up frequently. Imperceptibly the alcohol started to do its work. He no longer felt _quite_ so undressed and even his racing pulse began to slow just a little.

The first pause came as they waited for their food. Richard tried desperately to remember the questions he had so painstakenly drawn up, but his mind would not focus properly. Fortunately, Camille came to the rescue.

"Tell me about Croydon", she said in an encouraging tone. "It's in London, isn't it?"

"Yes. Well, technically no, it's in Surrey but everyone thinks of it as part of London. It's only about 15 minutes to Central London on a fast train. It's about as different from Saint Marie as you can imagine – I don't expect you'd like it. It has lots of tall buildings – when I first went there they used to call it the Manhattan of South London. And it has a tram system. And the Fairfield Halls." She raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Concerts, plays, that sort of thing."

"And you have a house there?"

"Yes, just a small one. Nothing special, you know. It's let out at the moment. I expect it will be totally ruined when I get it back."

"Have you always lived there? Where did you go to school?"

"In Kent. That's right in the south of the country."

"Did you like it at school? How long were you there for?"

"Eleven years – from 7 to 18."

"Seven! Your parents sent you away at seven? Why would they do such a thing?"

"Well, Dad was away a lot – he was a civil engineer, went all over the world building roads and bridges and dams and all that sort of thing. Mum always enjoyed the ex-pat life but she didn't think it was right for a child to be dragged around – they rarely stayed anywhere for more than a year at a time. So they thought it was better for me to go away to school."

"That must have been hard for you. You must have missed your parents a lot. Were you happy at the school?"

Richard thought hard. This was not something he had ever talked about before. "To be honest, I didn't really miss my parents. I hadn't seen an awful lot of them anyway. But the school was hard, I didn't really fit in, didn't know how to make friends with the other boys. And of course I got bullied quite a bit – being a bit of a nerd, my head always in a book. Reading was always easier than facing the bullies, somehow."

Camille ached with sympathy for the lonely boy that Richard had been. No wonder he had grown up so emotionally stunted. She reached out and touched his hand. She felt him tense, but he did not withdraw his hand. The waiter arrived with their main course, and re-filled Richard's glass.

As they ate, Camille continued her gentle inquisition. "And are your parents retired now?"

"Oh yes. They came back to England when I was seventeen. Retired to the country. Dad potters round the garden, Mum is the leading light in the local WI, Conservative Association, Parish Council, all that sort of thing. I don't see a great deal of them, really. Well, they don't exactly live on the doorstep and it's not as if we were ever very close. I don't think I've ever spent longer than a fortnight with them since I was seven, to be honest."

"Don't tell me", laughed Camille, "The caravan in Clacton!"

He gave the half-smile that he reserved only for her. "Yes indeed, whenever they were in England during the school holidays. But I did love the caravan."

"What did you do in the holidays if they were abroad? Did you stay at the school?"

"Sometimes, but more often I went to my grandmother's."

"The one with the dog who died?"

"Yes. I _was_ very upset when the dog died – he was my only friend and I used to talk to him a lot."

"Just like you do to Harry?" she suggested.

"I suppose so. The thing about an animal is you can tell them anything and they never answer back or laugh at you." _What was he saying? For God's sake he must get a grip on himself!_

"No-one here laughs at you, Richard", she said gently. "You don't have to talk to Harry, you know, you have me now."

"Yes. Yes I know" he muttered, overcome once more with confusion. "It's just that … well … you know, a lifetime … it's hard"

"I know. I understand. But if you don't try, it will never get any easier. And you might never discover that you actually quite like it!"

The waiter brought the dessert menu. Camille chose an enormous ice cream and Richard, fast losing the ability to think with any coherency, blindly ordered the same. Two huge glasses piled with scoops of different flavoured ice creams, meringue, fruit, cream and syrup duly arrived at their table. Richard felt faintly nauseous but resolutely dug in his spoon.

"Were you close to your grandmother? What was she like?"

"The only person who could have been close to my grandmother was the Viceroy of India", retorted Richard, in between mouthfuls of meringue, "and he, fortunately for us all, was otherwise engaged. You may be glad that you didn't know her! She was born in Delhi and never got over the loss of the Empire. If she'd had her way I'd have been equipped with a pith helmet and sent out to govern some godforsaken outpost. Come to think of it, I suppose she might actually have approved of me being here!"

"She didn't approve of you joining the Met?"

"No, she thought it was not the done thing at all. She wanted me to go into the Diplomatic Service, get posted to some distinguished Embassy somewhere … Can you imagine me as a diplomat? The perfect career choice? Always saying the wrong thing and upsetting people?"

"Yes, well maybe the Diplomatic Service had a lucky escape! But their loss was surely the police's gain? You must have been one of the Met's most successful officers?"

"In a small way, perhaps, but my face didn't really fit so I was never really going anywhere. And you know the Doug Anderson story. They were glad to get rid of me, I think, when I was sent out here."

"Well, _we_ are all glad that you are here and _we_ appreciate you, even if those idiots in London didn't." She threw him a dazzling smile. "Shall we have coffee?"

Richard ordered tea, of course. He sipped it gently when it arrived and sighed contentedly. "All right?" asked Camille anxiously. "Very nice, almost as good as your mother's."

"Well don't tell maman, she won't be pleased to hear she has a rival for your affections!"

Richard choked. "I wouldn't dream of it. Forget the snakes and the creepy crawlies – your mother is far and away the most terrifying thing on this island!"

"Even more terrifying than the Commissioner?" she teased.

"Much more! At least the Commissioner doesn't hate me!"

"Maman doesn't hate you, Richard, she just doesn't understand you very well. If she knew half the things you've told me …"

Richard looked seriously alarmed. "Don't worry, I'm not going to tell her – or anyone else. The truth is, neither of you understands the other very well. Maman can be a bit much sometimes, I know, but I admire her more than anyone. She had a really tough time when my dad left and she had to bring me up all by herself, but she's never sad or bitter, and I think that's remarkable, don't you?"

Richard was forced to agree and promised that he would try to get on better with Catherine in future – a promise he greatly doubted he would be able to keep.

He looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight! They had been talking for four hours and it had just flown by. Camille sensed his surprise. "You see, that wasn't too difficult, was it? She smiled. "I'm really not all that frightening". Richard stood up, feeling slightly light-headed from the joint effects of the alcohol and the enormous ice cream. He paid the bill and escorted Camille back to the car. On the way she tucked her hand into his arm; it felt somehow natural nestling there.

They hardly spoke on the journey home. Camille was concentrating on driving whilst Richard was wrestling with the next dilemma: should he invite her in when they got back to the shack? What would she expect? The evening had gone far, far better than he had dared to hope but he was very unsure how he should end it. Once again, Camille solved the problem for him. She jumped down from the driver's seat as soon as they arrived, wandered on to the veranda and leant over the balustrade, waiting for Richard to join her. It was a clear night. Stars were shining overhead and the moon shimmered on the waves, which broke softly on the golden sand. It was considerably cooler, but still warm.

Camille turned to Richard. "I've had a lovely time, Richard. Thank you."

"Yes. I mean, so have I."

"It's been really nice to meet the real Richard again. Don't spend too long in that castle of yours, there are people out here who are your friends, or would like to be. Just remember to let the drawbridge down now and then." And she reached up, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him very gently on the lips.

"Goodnight, Richard. See you tomorrow."

She jumped back into the Defender and started the engine. As she bumped her way back up the track she could see him in the rear mirror standing exactly where she had left him, staring after her. She wriggled with satisfaction. The evening had gone as well as she could have hoped. He had not returned her kiss – it was still too early for that – but he had not recoiled and she had felt the electric charge shoot through his body. Reserved, yes, certainly – but definitely not frigid. The prospect ahead was exciting. Camille smiled happily to herself as she pulled up outside her house.

Richard stood as if rooted to the spot until the tail lights of the Defender disappeared round the bend. He was in a state of shock and found after a while that his hands were shaking. He could still feel the touch of her lips on his mouth and the giddying sensation that had accompanied it. In his whole life he had experienced nothing like it. He had been taken completely by surprise, had been utterly incapable of responding to her action. He wondered if he would get another chance to show that he was most definitely _not_ indifferent to her – he really hoped so. Perhaps he would ask her out again, quite soon! Richard stood enjoying the balmy night air for a few more minutes, then decided to turn in. One way and another it had been an amazing day, culminating in the most wonderful evening he had ever spent.

In most people's books it may not have amounted to a great deal, but for Richard, he had made a start. He had taken one small step.


End file.
